


Whiskey and Tears

by Jenalop3



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenalop3/pseuds/Jenalop3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crane wasn't quite himself that morning, which worries Abbie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey and Tears

“You know, Lieutenant, when they say till death do you part I don't think they had any of – this in mind.” He swung his long scarecrow arm in a clumsy arc, the amber liquid in his glass sloshing down his wrist.

Ichabod Crane lay sprawled on her sofa, boots kicked to the floor and frock coat tossed. He leaned his head over the arm, gazing at her with bleary upside down eyes. There was a bottle of whisky resting on the floor pillowed against some cushions she knew to be unopened when she had left that, was now more than half empty.

“They probably didn't have dying in the 1700’s and waking up in a cave two hundred and fifty years later in mind, either.”

Abbie had known something was off. That morning she had sat at her breakfast bar watching as Ichabod slump into the chair to her left. He wasn't quite as animated, quite as opinionated, not bemoaning the state of modern America while watching “Good Morning, America”, or frantically texting as he usually did. No, instead he slid the plate of toast over and slowly spread butter evenly over the crusty surface, then a layer of jam, and a light dusting of cinnamon, before he ripped pieces off to dip in his hazelnut coffee.

She nudged him with her elbow. “You alright over there, Crane?” She stood and made her way to the key basket. “I can work from home today if you need me to?”

He pulled his gaze sluggishly from his coffee cup.

“Hmm? No Lieutenant, I will be fine for the day.” He waved away her concern, and to her car.

Still there was something nagging in the back of her mind the entire morning. Crane just wasn't himself, and Abbie couldn't bring herself to focus on work. When lunch rolled around and she reread the same paragraph for the sixth time she decided to pack it up and check on Crane.

And Abbie was glad she did, as Ichabod groaned and licked at the whiskey dribbling down his arm.

“What is all this, Crane?” She entered the living room proper scooping up the bottle.

“Celebrating.” He rolled over moving his long stork legs so Abbie could have a seat.

“An odd way to celebrate.” She pulled his legs to her lap. She shook the bottle, hearing the empty sloshing and squinted in his direction. “Laying about and getting drunk before noon. Not really your style.”

He was quiet for a moment propped up on his elbow. He sipped quietly from his glass, weaving slightly even from his reclined position.

“Today,” the alcohol made his voice scratchy. “Today is the anniversary of my nuptials.” He muttered into his glass quietly.

“Oh, Crane.”

He just shrugged and shot back the rest of his glass.

“I have tried to put her out of my mind, but she is always there. I can't help but think if things had been different, would she still be here. I could have been more careful in the field, I could have fought harder for her. I could have insisted she not go back to spy on Abraham and Henry. So many things I could have, yet I didn't.” Tears had started to make their way into his beard.

“I don't know about all that.” She leaned over his legs and gently took the empty glass from his limp fingers. “I didn't know Katrina like you did, but what I do know is that you couldn't make Katrina do anything she didn't want to. It was her own decisions that lead to what happened, there was nothing you, I, or God himself could have done.” She poured her self a shot and downed it.

“But what I can do is sit here and get shit faced along side you.” She downed a second shot.

Ichabod watched as she did, chin trembling. Abbie felt a swell of sympathy for the poor man. The past couple of years had been hard on him. Waking up two hundred plus years in the future would do that to anyone. She was never a touchy feely kind of person, but two shots in and a teary eyed Crane has her going against her own comfort.

“Budge up Crane.” She nudged at his backside, wedging herself between the cushions and Ichabod's boney back. She wrapped her arms about his middle and pressed her face into his shoulder blade.

Ichabod clutched her small hands to his chest like a lifeline.

“I miss her.” He sobbed, curling into himself. “Despite everything, Lieutenant, Katrina was my wife and I miss her , I miss her so much.”

Abbie clutched him tighter, stroking his shorn hair.

“I know, Crane.” She soothed, and curled around him tighter. “I know.”

“I am glad you came home early.” He muttered through watery tears. He pulled at her hand and she felt his bristly mustache brush against the the fine skin of her knuckles.

“That's what I am here for.” She tweaked his whiskers. If he needed her to she would slug around all day drunk as a skunk, or burry herself in the archives so long as he was there. That's what partners did, they had each other's backs in good times and in bad. Crane would find his way out of this emotional black hole, and she will be right beside him holding the flashlight.

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love these two and hope the series last long enough for the both of them to get their heads out of their asses, I am a giant sucker for slow burn and subconscious adoration for the other.


End file.
